


Strange Tales

by Amongthedeep



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Family Drama, Gen, Mother Issues, Original Fiction, Short Stories, Surreal, Talking Cats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8065822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amongthedeep/pseuds/Amongthedeep
Summary: A collection of surreal stories, not connected, each one is complete by itself.





	1. Never-Ending Road

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of stories I've done throughout the years, so they vary in quality and content~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done on 28/9/2014, so it's not the best.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=ma87f4)

Something was wrong. I sat in the bus stop, its glass walls long since broken, the bench rusted. A feeling that something was terribly wrong kept pulling at me. It whispered: Run, run.  
I stood, looking down the road. Pine trees flanked each side of the dirt path. Run, kept that urgent whispering. I couldn't wait for the bus, I had to move and I had to do it now, before...  
Before...  
I didn't know. I tied my white sneakers three times and ran.  
Run, run, run, run – it told me. I did. The frantic pace catching up with my lungs, burning eyes, nose, throat. I ran for kilometers without stop, never slowing down. My breath was a low whistle of air trying to reach to my heart.  
It hurt. It hurt so much to not be able to breathe, but I couldn't stop. I had to run.  
Run, Run, Run – it begged me. I ran towards the pull. Watching as the pine trees and their earthy smell disappeared behind me, the road turning from deep brown to cement, the flat grass planes flanking me. I could smell morning dew on them, and it hurt. The moist smell hurt my parched throat, I wanted to stop. I wanted to drink each leaf with that dew to soothe my throbbing need.  
I stopped looking at the enticing greenery. Even as my body and mind told me to “Slow down, drink a bit.”, the pull was so insistent.  
Run, run, run – and I did.  
The sun lifted high, heating my skin into an angry pink, obfuscating my view. I cried out, relief flooding me. A bicycle! I could've wept right there at its feet, so grateful were my legs.  
I didn't care if it was stealing, if someone else needed it. It was mine now. I climbed into it and pedaled, feeling the pleasant wind refreshing me.  
I gulped copious amounts of air, my lungs burning in gratitude. The tug grew fiercer, the need to go faster, as fast as this body could go. Something is wrong, I know it's wrong, but I searched through memories finding nothing. There was nothing there.  
Hadn't I waited at the bus like I was supposed to? I think Mom had been beside me, hadn't she? But it felt distant, the tugging overriding everything.  
I pedaled with the strength I had, feeling the bumps in the road with each taut pull of the pedals.  
Soon enough, I discovered the bike was more punishing than running. It was faster than running, it also hurt more.  
Only the thought that I had to be getting close, kept me pedaling like the devil was at my feet. Why it was so important, I didn't know. Why it was wrong, dunno. But I'd finish what I'd started, there was no going back.  
Kilometers and kilometers, never-ending scenery of flowers and oak trees. Apple trees and orange trees. Blueberries and strawberries. On and on, I got flanked with such delicious offerings, tempting me to stop and run to them. Eat and drink my fill. Each time I slowed down a fraction, the horrible tug split my head and I pedaled faster, tears stinging my eyes.  
I was tired, so tired. My head lolled with exhaustion, I couldn't look up or to the sides. With my forehead pressed against the frame, I heard a honk behind me. I turned to look, screaming as I saw the ginormous metal truck gunning down towards me.  
I tried to pedal faster, to swerve away from it. The bike felt like it was getting stuck on mud, the wheels reeling and sluggish.  
The noise overpowered all of my senses, until I felt all that metal and death hitting me and throwing my body and the bike through the air as if we were no more than rag dolls.  
+  
The thing that made me open my eyes was the pain. Not the tugging, ever present inside of me, but the lacing pain that hit me each time I breathed and tried to move my right leg. It was broken. I screamed when I moved it. I sobbed into the air and that worsened the pain in my jaw, in my forehead. I couldn't feel my left arm anymore.  
"Someone, help!" I whispered, because my throat didn't have strength.  
I looked around wildly, spotting the bike. I grinned, which made the white haze in my eyes worsen.  
I dragged myself to it, swallowing the pain as best as I could, though when my right foot twitched against the floor, I had to trash and hold on to it until I could breathe again.  
Pedaling with only one leg, steering with only one hand, eyesight blurring everything into a hazy white mist.  
It didn't matter, it felt right again. That I was doing the right thing. I wasn't as fast, it felt worse. I felt cold and empty, the blood on my forehead caked on my hand and sleeve, a ringing inside my ears.  
It wasn't a straight line, the road. I wobbled in a chugging zig-zag down that never-ending road.  
It was slow, so slow that at first I didn't notice, but the cold was taking away my right arm too. I was losing the grip on the bike.  
It wasn't immediate, it was a long ways until I crashed into the floor. I couldn't scream anymore, my throat too raw. Mucus and tears were all the evidence of the pain I was in as the bike weighted against my broken leg.  
I pulled myself up, unsteady on my leg, knowing this was going to be miserable.  
I wobbled slowly, wincing and biting my hands - I no longer felt them - with each piercing pain as I staggered forward.  
Not running, not pedaling. Not fast, not anything but a slow, crawling stagger. Yet, the tugging was quiet, it wasn't screaming at me anymore. The feeling of wrong wasn't there.  
I kept going, I had to keep going. That was all I had left.  
I shouldn't have left the bus stop where Mom was at. I think Mom was waiting for the bus with me. Why hadn't I realized that? I'm sure we'd have seen Father too. He didn't have much patience for waiting, like me.  
I was like that, wasn't I? Wasn't that why I was now in so much pain? Pain so grand it numbed my body and head.  
I gasped, stopping and staring in awe.  
A door.  
Wood door, all grains visible, a round golden knob enticing me. No walls around it. Just the sole door in the middle of the road. I giggled and laughed hysterically.  
I wheezed as I rested my forehead, it was a throb now so I no longer cared, and tried to pull myself together.  
Crouching, I used my mouth and teeth to turn the knob and head-butted the door open.  
I stood fearfully watching the white place. The table, surrounding her or me, the doctors and nurses hovering. The beep-beep of the machines, the tubes in my body.  
I entered into it, felt the swish of air as the door closed behind me, and staggered towards her.  
Me.  
The doctor nearest to me was sewing her, my cut-open wrist.  
No!, I wanted to scream. I'd never kill myself, I'd never! Never! Why? Why couldn't I remember? Why had I run so much? Just so I...so I could what? See this? Know this? Lies, it was all lies. It had to be.  
I cried as I saw her right leg, all mangled and plastered in place. It was like being inside murky water, the feeling when everything is wrong.  
She opened her blue eyes and looked at me, they didn't notice. Didn't see it.  
That gaping-open hand caught mine as she smiled.  
"Why?" I asked her.  
"Mom," she said.  
I bellowed and threw myself at her in anger. My body overlapped with hers, and I was gone. Gone. Disappearing into the dark.  
+  
I was in a long hallway full of closed doors. No pain, nothing slowing me down. A door further down the hallway opened on my right side. I barged into it and stared.  
"Mom, please, don't do this!" she screamed. Me, it was me.  
My mom had a knife in her hand, a wide smile in her dilated eyes.  
"It's okay, like this we won't be lonely."  
She started backing away. Mom threw a chair at her, connecting with her forehead and jaw. She stomped on her right leg, until I heard the crack and scream tearing itself from her lungs.  
"Stop it!" I screamed. But no one could hear me.  
Mom crouched down and slit her wrists. The only thought that passed through me as I watched that red river flow, was that if she truly wanted to kill me she'd have done it vertically to my elbows, right?  
We both cried, as Mom put the knife to her own throat.  
"Don't be scared, we'll make each other company."  
I threw myself at her, trying to knock the knife as it painted a deep red smile on her throat. I tried to shake her, tell her what would Dad think of all this? Where was Dad?  
She screamed and screamed for help as the blood seeped into the floor, a crimson pond staining my white sneakers.  
I didn't want this. I DIDN'T WANT TO KNOW THIS! Just stop it, stop it, stop it!  
Make it all go away, just please.  
+  
Falling. I'm falling. The azure sky is greeting me, no clouds to hamper my view as I watch the stream of blood trail down from my open wrists.  
"It'll be blood rain," I said. "My blood rain."  
It's such a bizarre feeling, like sky-diving but faster, as the wind whips the hair from my face, rumpling my clothes, cooling me down to the tips of my toes.  
I stare into that dazzling blue mirage. It's such an intense color, tears climb down my eyes to greet it.  
I'm calm now, or calmer. I'm not afraid. I'm okay. There's nothing wrong anymore. I'm not scared of that long blood-trail I'm making through the open skies. It's okay. There's no wrong-feeling anymore. No tugging.  
I did it, whatever it was it needed to be done, it was done.  
So, I closed my eyes and felt the crushing impact on my body.  
+  
I jolted awake, hearing the beep-beep of my heart. There was a tingling sensation on my fingers, I felt like scratching my wrists. I peered into the room, it was all fuzzy until my eyes focused. A nurse was beside me.  
"Hold on, honey, let me call the doctor, okay?"  
Such a nice voice. Like I was a cripple. Yes, that's right. She spoke to me as if I was out of my goddamn mind and needed to be soothed.  
Right leg in the air, wrists in bandages. Itch everywhere.  
I had a vague sense that something had happened, I was so tired. Sooo tired. Like I'd run two or three marathons non-stop.  
I looked blearily at the doctor.  
"It's okay. You must be confused," the doctor said, in that way they had to be remote. "Now that you're finally awake after all these months, you can finally start therapy."  
"Therapy?" I whispered.  
The nurse helped me drink water through a straw.  
"For your leg, and after the suicide attemp-"  
"No!" I bellowed. "I'd never, ever, try to kill myse-"  
"We know," the doctor interrupted. "I meant, your mother's and what she did to you. It's okay, everything's going to okay. Your Dad will be here shortly."  
No, everything wouldn't be okay anymore. My mom tried to kill me, I was in a hospital hurting and scared.  
But I guess, I'd have to go onwards if I wanted to get out of that room with all the beep-beeps.  
I had a strange sensation that I'd do it. That I'd already done half the job, so I calmed down and nodded.  
Therapy. I could do therapy, couldn't I?  
And then, I'd make everything okay.  
>End


	2. Darkness Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started in 2012/3 but only finished in 23/3/2015, so it varies wildly in quality.

"I can't deal with it anymore," she said with a guffaw, staring at the wall. "It's like being slowly hammered in the head, until all you feel is pain and like you're about to faint, except you don't."  
I sighed, not knowing how to answer her.  
"And, worse of all, I feel like I'm dying slowly inside my dreams," she eyed me severely, "and no one even cares that I'm right."  
I sighed again. "It's just-"  
"Yeah, yeah. Dreams my ass, are you kidding me? I'm slowly getting killed and only when you find my shriveled, decomposing body in my bed, will you accept it!"  
"Aina..." I said, and shut up when she stormed from the chair, crying.  
"Don't," she said, and balled her fists. "Don't. You. Dare. Just don't."  
I shook my head, blonde curls whipping my face. "I'm on your side."  
"No, no you aren't! No one is, and the..." her lips trembled, "the worse is I'm treated as a lunatic. So shut up, that's why you're my psychiatrist. So you can tell them how I'm getting so much better, except I'm not!"  
I nodded, and rose from my padded chair. "Yes. But you are not a lunatic, we don't treat you like that," I assured her, nearing her. "I love you, Aina, and so does your parents."  
I spread my arms and hugged her, letting her enfold me with tears and claw nails. She shuddered and sniffed. I rubbed her back, cooing as if she was a baby.  
I cleaned the salt from her face and eyes, pushing black tendrils from her rosy face. "There, much better, isn't it? Just beautiful and pretty."  
"No," she shook her head, but didn't let go. "No, I am not but thank you anyway."  
I smiled at her, kissing her cheek. "Everything's not fine, but it will. Your mom loves you so much. She's waiting, are you going to keep her wait?"  
Aina stared at my forest green cardigan but said nothing. I patted her. "That's okay too, to make her wait," I assured her. "She's coming tomorrow, so let's cheer up and make you just dazzling, 'kay?"  
Aina nodded, a little childish smile in her face. "Yes, I'd like that."  
***  
Long and fine, her hair just like black silk. Virgilia took the stained and moldy clothes she'd come with, left to rot on the ground from her first outbursts and rebellious phase. They all went through the first phase like that. /research/  
Aina combed and combed her hair, her cheeks red and plump from eagerness. She even took the medicines. Aina was not dumb, she understood that to see them she had to take them.  
I pinned her hair with little orange bee clips, they looked like quartz shining and contrasting against her dark hair.  
I powdered her throat, the marks where she sometimes scratched turning invisible. Her forehead, her arms. Virgilia cut her nails, getting rid of the claw shape, painting them a pearl tone.  
The light blue overalls cut above her knees, showing her white stockings and black sneakers. Little flower orange earrings and a necklace with rainbow beads in it completed the outfit.  
All in all, she looked good. Like she'd improved, and neared normality. I beamed at Aina, she looked really pretty. Aina looked in wonder at her own reflection, shaking as she touched and stroked the glass – perhaps afraid of touching herself and shattering the spell shown in the reflection.  
"See? I told you were beautiful," I said, smiling at her through the mirror.  
She smiled back, almost like a butterfly kiss, there and gone just as quick. "Yes, though it's a lie."  
I ignored her remark, the fact her eyes had gone cold. Hugged her, stroking her bare arms. Aina always regained herself when she felt warm skin against hers, so I tried my best to do skinship.  
"Lady Amala. Lady Amala, come to the reception," a voice said through the speakers.  
I snapped, recognizing my name. I looked back at Aina, fearful that she would relapse while I was away, and kissed her cheek. "I'll be right back, sweet. It must be your parents, so overjoyed they are to see you again."  
She nodded carefully so that she did not rustle her hair.  
I stormed down the hallways, my high heels clicking against the linoleum of the floor, and entered the stark reception. The plump couple was there, the tiny child beside them. It'd been so long since I'd seen them, I barely registered them and had to back pedal.  
"I'm terribly sorry, I thought you'd take longer and an emergency had happened," I said, a professional smile pasted on.  
"We're sorry too, it's just, we wanted to be certain she would be okay and not..." Miss Redwood said, eying her youngest sprout.  
"Oh, yes, of course. No, I'm terribly sorry, I completely forgot to warn you," I replied. "She's fine, she's improving so much. Aina is a wonder."  
I lied, the smile still in my face and watched their warm smiles. The youngest, her name was something like -ly or -ry or something with an I, popped a lollipop in her mouth, drooling against her mother's skirt.  
"That is good, Doctor-" Aina's father started.  
/research/"Oh, no, I'm not a Doctor," I interrupted, pushing my curls back. "But she is not well enough to go out."  
They seemed to accept it, though it was a farce from our side. Aina had confounded us all. She wasn't bipolar, she wouldn't react to any of our treatments. She had backlashes, sudden mood swings, personality changes and she had not reacted to any medication. The most we had achieved was calming medication, capable to throw down a horse, and all it did to Aina was calm her. Just thinking about it made me want to scream. My career had been going so well too.  
I left them in the reception and stumbled upon Virgilia.  
"Everything's cool?" I asked, worried.  
Virgilia nodded. “Yes, for now. Hurry inside, while she's still calm.”  
I passed by her and entered the room. With the sunlight streaming down the window, Aina's back to it, I could see she looked far too pallid. Sickly pallid. And I noticed the bags under her eyes. I applied concealer and pink lip-gloss to her lips, a little bit of blush to her cheeks.  
There, much better. I beamed at her.  
"You're just precious!" I shrieked and pinched her face.  
Aina blinked, once, then twice, and did a little shrug-smile. "I wanna see them."  
I nodded. "Of course, come." I grabbed her thin hand and pushed her with me.  
Aina skipped down the hall, her skips hard to match with high heels. I was smaller than her by a lot, and I'd have to match her with heels. Otherwise, they think they can dominate you or go over you.  
As soon as she saw them, Aina withdrew. Her eyes huge and shy, hugging me. Behaving younger than her own sister. I nudged her on, soothing her back with gentle strokes. Aina kept going from them to me, tittering like a little lost bird. She sat opposite them, her hands in her lap. I sat beside her, and held her hand so she couldn't scratch or enter into any of her other nervous habits.  
The Redwoods did pleasant conversation that had a lot of undermines. Like the cheerleader of her good friend had gone to the finals, and was terribly talented. How proud they were from knowing her.  
They didn't ask for her treatments, for that I was thankful. We hadn't done everything by the book, we'd tried but Aina had rioted and made the other patients rally. If we hadn't done it...I feared we'd lose a lot of revenue for casualties.  
Aina became upset, wringing her shorts, picking at frayed pieces.  
“You wanted her for your daughter, didn't you?” she mumbled. “I'm not good enough, am I?! I'll never be! Go away! Away! Die! Dead!”  
I gripped her, locking her down as the Redwoods stared. The younger sister took out the lollipop and gurgled, hooting with laughter and spit flying. Virgilia helped me drag her away. Her family did not look pleased. Aina's father turned crimson, his hands in fists as we took her away.  
I entered the cell, closing the door.  
“How could you? You embarrassed me, you...you!” I shouted, completely appalled. “Weren't you wanting to see them? Didn't you say so? Why did you have to do this to me?”  
Her dark eyes fixed on mine. “You're just like them.”  
I opened my mouth to reply something acerbic, but Virgilia entered and made me leave. I had to deal with the aftermath, soothing her parents ruffled feathers.  
“What is the meaning of this? You said she was better!” Mr. Redwood said, getting in my face.  
“I would kindly beg you to back away so the security doesn't interfere,” I said, staring at his green eyes.  
“I don'-” he started, getting hauled by the security.  
I smiled sweetly, composing myself. “Now, Mr. Redwood, she's better but not perfect. There's a difference. Kindly leave, we'll make another appointment.”  
Mrs. Redwood shook her brown hair, grabbing her daughter's sticky hand. “No. No more appointments. We aren't going to come anymore. Tell that..to...that-that!”  
She huffed storming out, the kid beaming and waving with her lollipop, Mr. Redwood right behind.  
I didn't have the energy to castigate Aina. We locked her in the solitary so she could gain some perspective and left, closing all the lights.  
***  
In the morning, we convened at the solitary. The two guards side-by-side, Virgilia opening the door. Gasps rankled everywhere. My knees buckled and I slammed against the iron door.  
Aina's eyes stared emptily at the bare ceiling, her body devoid of warmth and color. Only her black hair contrasted against the white of cell, the white of her skin. We hurried inside, gripping her pulse. There were no marks on her body, no scratching – nothing. There was no reason why she should be dead.  
I hid in the toilet, scrubbing the dead feel from my hands, trying to erase the smell from my nose. I sniffled, facing my bloated face. Not only was I wreck, my career was about to get destroyed. My pay was low, I'd interned on the “Caretaker Louise” and they'd liked me enough to keep. I'd been due a raise when Aina appeared. Now she was dead, and I didn't know why.  
I sighed, rubbing my face clean from smeared make-up.  
Virgilia entered, washing hands and coiffing back her brunette locks, re-applying lipstick and mascara.  
“How fucked are we?” I said, re-applying base and concealer.  
She smiled, applying rouge on her apple cheeks. “Super fucked. The board is coming down to talk to us.” Her dark eyes fixed on mine. “They've...discovered Aina wasn't supposed to be there...and the other times.”  
I slumped, applying the rest of the make-up and erecting my spine. “Well, they don't know anything. Once we show them her records, they'll agree with us and spin it in a glow-y way. Mark my words.”  
“Preach it, sister,” Virgilia smirked with shiny red lips. “Time to go.”  
I nodded, giving a few tiny touches to my hair, and we left.  
They relentlessly attacked us, trying to pry us from our hinges. Yada yada about lawsuits and negligence. We pushed back, showing all our data. The fact Aina had not reacted to any medication or treatment. That she took higher level doses, used for animals that weighed five times what she did, and the effects were from none to mild to moderate. We pushed and pushed until they relented.  
We hush-hushed the whole thing, sent her body for analysis from the mortuary and donate it for science since their parents had given “Caretaker Louise” the power of attorney for all decisions. The Redwood family did not appear, did not answer the calls I repeatedly left on their answering machine and voicemail. They disappeared from the face of Earth. That was a blessing, we were all expecting lawsuits or charges. Thankfully, they were gone and all the records from what we'd done to Aina were erased, deleted, burned.  
Not one piece evidence existed.  
Well, there was me and Virgilia and the security, who heard and manhandled, and the higher-ups. Outside of us, we were protected.  
I went to visit Virgilia after getting a discharge, they wanted to make sure we properly “forgot”. Carrying a bag with muffins and coffees, I kicked on her door. When she didn't answer, I called. She was home, her cellphone causing a ruckus.  
I banged on the door. “Virgilia? Open this goddamn door, you hear me? I'm heavy.”  
Nothing happened. I sighed, hitting the door again and again until her neighbor appeared.  
“Yo, you causing a ruckus and peep be sleeping,” he grumbled, removing the gunk from his eyes. “Catch.”  
He threw me a pair of keys, one labelled Virgilia.  
“She has some plant I water, whatever man, just return it when you finished. Okay?”  
I nodded, opening the door, carrying the bag inside. Said bag fell to the ground as I lost the strength in my hands, a screech climbing out of my mouth. I don't even know how I didn't faint.  
The neighbor entered it, giving a little high-pitched wheeze that dog's could've picked up.  
“Oh, man, oh man. They gonna think I killed her!” he said, passing around. He grabbed me by the shoulders, his breath smelling of cannabis. “I didn't, you hear? You was here, you tell them!”  
I nodded glumly, phoning the police and the emergency lines.  
We got harassed for time and place, for prints and saliva, our clothes inspected for blood. They made us give our clothes to them in zip-locked bags, wearing hospital gowns. My nagging suspicion got confirmed when they asked us how we'd done it. How we'd killed Virgilia, what poison, and how we'd left.  
Virgilia had died the same way Aina had. No traces of the cause of death, the room completely locked down.  
That night, in the police station, I couldn't sleep. I sweated throughout the night, staring at the muted ceiling waiting for my turn.  
It didn't come.  
I came out of the cell weary and bleary, my hair matted and my make-up ruined. A part of me wanted to go the funeral and cry at her tombstone, we'd been friends-with-benefits but I'd really liked her. More than I'd thought. I cried alone, cleaning the house after a boiling shower – I could still smell the piss in the air mingled with dirty sweat. I called in at the hospice, wanting to know if any of the others had died.  
They had. One of the security guards had appeared dead inside the bathroom.  
I couldn't stand anymore so I went to sleep, preparing for my turn.  
It still didn’t' come. I felt a bit unhinged, looking everywhere. I didn't lock windows or doors, I made sure there was light and space everywhere.  
The other security guard appeared dead, they told me. They thought it was me. Me! I laughed hysterically and disconnected.  
I closed myself inside the wardrobe. If they would kill me, I'd first make them find them.  
I awoke abruptly. Without knowing I'd dozed off, and been woken by some noise.  
Footsteps.  
They clattered on the floor, standing in front of the wardrobe.  
I gripped it, and monstrous noises came from the side. Whatever it was banged against the door, splitters flying as it destroyed slowly the door. I put my whole body force against it. The thing whined and screamed, so high my ears trickled warm blood. I was so full of adrenaline I only noticed because of my clothes getting bloodstained.  
The whole night it slammed against the wardrobe, clawing and ripping the door in half. Its claws ripped my arms and my sanity.  
In the morning, I came out of the wardrobe laughing, whooping. I'd survived! Yes, me, I. I'd survived, I'd live. I showered and dressed, ate more than I had since this whole thing had started.  
They came in the afternoon.  
They took me by force, hands grabbing me everywhere as I screamed and shouted about the monster. That I was alive, I'd survived and they were going to kill me!  
They sedated me, plopping me down on the chair facing the police  
“Are you aware that you killed the Redwood family, Miss Dawsoon and Mr. Heileen and Mr. Powlski?” he said.  
I laughed, thinking it a joke. “What are you talking about? I'm telling you, the monster came today and--”  
“Enough,” the cop cut in. “In the night of the murder, you closed yourself inside the solitary cell and killed Aina Redwood. Then as the days went by, you picked off each and every single one of the people that had dealt with Ms. Redwood, including the parents and the younger sister.”  
I blinked. “This isn't funny, mister officer. I have done no such thing!”  
They exchanged glances and threw photos of me at the solitary door. “That was after you'd left, check the time-stamp. You returned, entered and stabbed Aina Redwood with a syringe full of poison. We had a hard time finding the entry-point, it was hidden by her hair. So were the others.”  
I stared at myself, shaking my head. “No. No. this can't be right. There's no way! There's just no way!” I started laughing and trembling hysterically. “You can't dot his to me, you can't, you just can't! I'm a psychiatrist, I’ve worked so hard for my degree and for my job. We had to hush-hush Aina, you see? But not me, I didn't approve!”  
They showed my hand-prints on the guard's house, on Virgilia's. I could justify Virgilia, we'd been pretty firey and everywhere, but the guards? I started mumbling incoherently. How could it be me?  
“I'm being set-up, you've gotta believe me,” I begged, throwing the photos to the table. I rose from the chair and got tackled from behind, my hands handcuffed to the stiff metal. “Please, I wouldn't. I really wouldn't. It's them! The higher-ups in Caretaker Louise are setting me up, I know they're.”  
I screamed, fighting against the chair, my wrists getting bloody as I tried to rip myself free. I fainted.  
+  
I sit here, staring at these padded white walls, looking at Aina's dark eyes. She smirks as I jot down memories. Somebody set me up, I took the fall. I'm crazy, but I'm not. I saw the monster. I heard it. And now, she doesn't let me go.  
“There, there, Amala. It's okay, we'll make each other company,” Aina says sweetly, chomping on green strawberry. “Besides, Virgilia was so not right for you. She was stuffy and old, deep down inside. Though I gotta say hiding inside a closet would've been the ultimate irony.”  
“Just go away,” I tell her. “Just leave, you've done your bidding.”  
She chuckles. “Oh, but I haven't. We'll have forever to acquaintance with each other. I'll have to pay you back for those months you made me suffer.”  
Her hand trails my naked shoulder, her other fisting my matted curls until I look at her.  
“I'll show you real good, Amala,” she snarls, biting me.  
I scream, fighting her off. The helpers enter, shaking their head.  
“Dose her,” one of them says. “Always screaming at the nothing.”  
I plead for help, Aina is making it hard to breath with her teeth ripping my jugular, but they aren't seeing it.  
They can't see the monster.  
#End


	3. The Others in the Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super short story from maybe 2010-2011? It's weiiiird, but might as well add it here~

The rain pattered down through the green leaves of the tall trees surrounding her. Blocking the path to the village was a large and thick tree trunk. The girl coughed and hugged her soaked thin coat, the air chilly with the morning fog of a yet unborn day.  
The old man beside her grumbled and looked at her. “Whatcha waiting for? Move along!”  
They walked through the clearing, looking behind warily. If they knew where they were…  
Better not to think of it.  
She sighed and shivered, helping the old man climb the trunk. She tried to climb it with her feet and hands, but kept slipping and tumbling down. The old man tried to help her but he didn’t possess the strength of a young, virile man anymore.  
Noises came from the trees around them, the rustling of a dead forest. She started crying and sat, hugging herself. There was no way she was going to get out of there alive, they knew she was there and now…  
Now they were going to hunt her.  
The old man shrieked and plummeted down on the other side of the trunk, sprinting for his life. She couldn’t really condemn him, if she had to choose between his life or hers…  
So she got up and stood stiffly, waiting for them to appear because they would come. There was no doubt about it. The rustling increased, almost like the chanting from a bonfire, teasing her, telling her to be afraid - to quake in horror.  
She drew in a breath to stabilize herself and shouted, “I know you’re there. I’m not scared, so show yourselves!”  
The rustling stopped so suddenly shivers ran through her body. She could feel them there. Could feel the pressure, imagine the words they said.  
The way they mocked her for trying.  
She gulped the freezing air and walked forward. If they weren’t going to go to her, then she would go to them.  
At least, it’d be faster and quick…  
She hoped.  
End


	4. Book Slave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shortie written in 17/04/2015~

She picked up the book and threw it across the room, stomping her foot and waggling a finger at it. How dare it deceive her like this? How dare it mock her? She would show it who was the boss around here.  
“Don't be like that, babe,” the book flapped, grinning.  
“Fuck off!” she roared, waltzing away and checking her bookshelves.  
They were thick mahogany, with a gloss finish that reflected her beady eyes. The books were brown and red, their pages brown and yellow from age. She wrinkled her nose, fighting off a sneeze that was watering her eyes. Her hands ran down the lengths of one of the shelves and made an “ah-ah!” noise and pulled them out. Behind the dulled-by-time books was her little painting of a boathouse made in colorful and vivid oils that jumped into life when sunlight hit it.  
The painting grinned, flashing lights. “Hi there, lass, you here fer what?”  
“For the oil and the matches,” she said grinning, wiping away the dust on the painting.  
“Oy, oy!” The book sputtered. “Don't do this to me, I'm a good book. I swear it.”  
She turned, flicking away wisps of black hair. “Who told you to threaten me? Nobody told you to. And now you'll be beautiful in ash for my plants. They quite like to drench magic books into their roots.”  
“Bu-but!” the book squealed, its heavy-bound covers flapping grand mists of dust into the air.  
She sneezed, spraying the shelf, painting and books with it, rubbing a hand over her watered eyes.  
“Ew!” the painting protested, coughing up the oil can and lighter.  
She grabbed them, socks skidding in the marble floor as she neared the blasted book.  
“Wait! Wait, I said!” the book protested, jumping in place as she dropped with a big thunk the oil can. “You don't want to do this! I'll make you a deal of...”  
She uncorked the red can, smelling the sweet gasoline, loving its beautiful low shine from the dusk outside the tall windows. “A deal of?” she inquired, sloshing the oil and making its sweet smell reach the book that shrieked.  
“Riches!” the book said hoarsely.”  
She shook her head, dropping the liquid around the book in a circle. “That's something I don't need.”  
“Umm...Fame!” he sputtered, squirming in place. When she dunked the rest of the can on top of the book, gagging him, he shouted, “I'm sorry, whatever you want, please.”  
She stopped, admiring the black oily mixing with the brown paper and the yellow pages. “Very well.” She smirked. “You'll be bound to be my slave from here on now. And don't you forget It. Do it.”  
The book quivered in place like a kicked puppy and burped a magical circle that flew into her hands. She stroked the white, glow-y lines, reading the contract.  
She smirked like a fox. “No, you're bound to my bloodline, future, past and present. For eternity.”  
The book yelped, mumbling and shoved a rather angry red circle at her. She petted the circle, and nodded wolfishly.  
“Very well, from now on, if you cross me, the oil and the flames will be the least of your problems.” She stomped the thick, hardbound cover, making the book groan. “Agreed?” she smiled.  
“A-agreed...”the book coughed out.  
And she was going to make him repent for the rest of his days.  
>End


	5. The Attic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortie written in 18/04/2015~

The hands of the clock stopped at 9:23. Lighting thundered outside, lighting the inside in stark white and dark-blue shadows that grew with each strike of the thunder outside the window. She plastered her face to the chilly window, covered in specks of water, grime and dust. Her breath fogged up, hiding the brick house that had been built behind the house. When the thunder didn't come, she shivered praying on her knees that it'd hit soon, the light from the streetlamp wasn't strong enough to illuminate the attic -- it couldn't protect her from them.  
Her hands plastered against the tiny window, going blue-purple from cold. She closed her eyes, hearing the low growls thrumming through the attic. She focused on breathing, that was important; if she stopped breathing everything would end. When one of their dead fingers stroked from shoulder to elbow, she shivered, steadying breaths and pretending nothing was happening. When their nails dug deep, making the warmth inside her leak out, she gasped. If she cried, nothing would change, it never had. Her Uncle had never believed her, and she'd been instituted already. Her fingers twitched, remembering the brain rattling shocks. Her Uncle thought she'd self-inflicted to bring attention -- the fingers dug so deep she felt when they collided with her bones. Her body was scarred, she couldn't sleep during the night; there were days she didn't sleep at all. At least like that her uncle couldn't incriminate her and lock her inside the attic.  
She screamed as they pulled her bones, trying to fragment her from the inside out. She kicked, but their fingers dug ever deeper and harder. Someone gripped her face, digging under her jaw until she could feel their fingers hit her tongue. The pain blinded and muted her for blissful seconds.  
When the fingers abandoned her, the pain tripled and she sobbed.  
Why had they have to die? If they were still alive, she'd never been given to her Uncle after her Aunt, from her mother's side, had gotten fed up with feeding her, taking her to school had cost too much. Her Aunt had bitched about her being an ungrateful little slut, even though she had still been a virgin then, and had finally carted her off to the estranged Uncle of the family. Because on the boonies nobody got on their cases if she wasn't fed enough, or if she cried and screamed from being forced by her Uncle's “friends” that paid him enough for alcohol and for some food that he didn't let her eat.  
No, she'd run away every day stealing from orchard's, bushes and lone trees, trying to get away. But he'd find her, or his friends, and after having some fun -- the burn marks still throbbed -- they'd lock her in the attic where all the monsters came out.  
At least they didn't spread her.  
>End


	6. The Baron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super shortie written in 22/04/2015

It was a small cat, all black except for one white forepaw. He stood on two legs, smirking full of sharp teeth, tugging at its waistcoat, the little pocket clock slowly hitting his white forepaw with the rhythm of the breeze. Michael looked up, inhaling blue skies without clouds and spiced bread from the bakery next door. He blinked several times, stretching on his recliner.  
“Hey you, yes you.” The husky tone made Michael look down, right into the cat baron moistening his whiskers. “Don’t ignore me. You see me don’t you? Come on, I have things to show you.”  
Michael shook his head, returning to stare at the sky, the low warmth of the sun soothing and comforting. Something hit his thigh, digging with sharpness that made him yelp and look down at the offending intruder.  
“Don’t ignore me,” the cat purred, flashing golden eyes and teeth. “You’ll like it, i promise.”  
Michael rose and felt like a giant compared to the cat, that even on its hind legs didn’t reach his knee. He paced the veranda, gripping the iron rails, poking the few lone plants on their pots and dishes. He very much wanted to flail and disappear for the cat went around with him, refused to disappear himself, and batted with his black and white paw at his tight enough to hurt.  
“Would you kindly stop it?” Michael pleaded, rubbing said thigh and streaking his newly bought green pants with brown. He cursed, glaring at the cat. “Look what you’ve made me do! My grandma will sock me if she sees me like this.”  
After licking a paw full of dignity, the black cat flashed teeth in an imitation of a kind smile and tip-toed to the recliner, where he reached michael’s waist. “Well… if you come with me, they won’t find you to sock you.”  
Michael frowned, tugging at his lips. “And when do I get back?”  
The baron purred, rubbing himself against the warm recliner. “When you’re ready, m’boy.”  
Michael agreed, relief flooding him as he took the baron’s paw. They jumped from the balcony, right behind the bakery, he could see the people milling about behind those small windows, boxed in by red brick and sweet smell. Michael’s stomach rumbled and he tugged away from the baron.  
“I’m hungry, let’s eat,” Michael said enthusiastically.  
The baron batted him, digging sharp nails inside him that made him clutch his leg as it leaked and dirtied further his pants. “What are you doing?!”  
The cat ignored Michael’s sob and dragged him. “You’ll have food when we get there.”  
Michael sobbed, following the cat because he couldn’t get free from his paws, not liking it anymore. It was supposed to be a grand adventure and when he’d return, everything was the same and he’d eat his mother’s chocolate cookies and ham sandwiches - he’d be right in time for snack time and gorge on apple juice.  
“Where’s this? Take me home!” Michael protested, looking around wildly. while he’d been daydreaming, the cat had led him to an alley made of cement. It stunk of dead animals, making his stomach roll and bile rise. If he’d eaten, he’d surely puke then.  
A mob of cats streamed from places invisible to Michael’s eyes and dread flooded him, making his head throb to the bitter taste in his mouth.  
“Say hello, boy,” the cat purred, tapping his backside.  
“Hello,” Michael whispered, squirming in place.  
“Say goodbye now,” he laughed huskily.  
Michael stared. “What?” but the baron didn’t answer, oh no, the cat’s all around him hissed and cussed, surrounding him further in a wave of cats. One of them jumped, swiping claws and gashing his cheek. The copper smell rolled together with that of dead animal and the cats went into frenzy, locking teeth and claws into him.  
Michael screamed for help, but none came.

>End


End file.
